


The Underside of the World

by JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [6]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Psychic Bond, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1902747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman has wormed her way into Jim and Blairs' lives, but is she who she appears to be, or a force that's out to kill them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Underside of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Sensory Overload #3

_What the hell is going on?!_

Blair watched Jim hand Natalie her supper and seat himself, leaving the graduate student to truck his own meal over to the table to join the two.

"Do you really think that's the problem?" Natalie was asking, her expression too edged with wide-eyed innocence to convince Blair of her sincerity.

Jim, however, didn't seem to have a problem. "Oh, I think so," the Sentinel said easily, spearing a bite of the barbecued pork chop with an absentminded jab of the fork, glancing back at the woman as he lifted it to his mouth. "Or just send him around to me, and I'll set him right."

 _You? Since when did you know anything about finances, Jim?_ Blair frowned as he watched the seemingly good-natured banter, his confusion growing.

It had all seemed so ordinary when it started. Just two weeks ago he and Jim had been eating their supper at home, alone together as they usually were at that hour. Situation normal. The rapport between them was as high as Blair had ever seen it, and he would have sworn that nothing had the power to disrupt their relationship.

And yet she had. Her husband had died two and a half weeks ago in another state, and Jim had been the officer handed the duty of giving his widow the sad news of her spouse's heart attack. Jim had hated the duty, as most officers did, but was kind enough to spare Blair the experience, meeting him afterward for lunch with Natalie in tow. And so it had begun.

Blair had accepted the woman's presence easily at first, figuring that Jim simply hadn't felt right about leaving her alone with the news and was catering to her grief. But as one day lengthened into several, then dragged into a week, he began to wonder.

And so here it was, barely two weeks later, and Natalie had just moved into the house, sharing the loft with the Sentinel, without Jim so much as asking a by-your-leave of Blair. Granted, he hadn't asked Blair to find another place, either, but still.

In fact, when it came right down to it, Blair mused, watching his friend with a frown, Jim hardly seemed to notice that the graduate student was even there, and Blair wasn't sure the cop would've noticed if his long-time partner had stood up and left the room. _Or even his life_.

Blair shivered, then shrugged the thought away. That wasn't true. Jim and he had built too much together, too deep, for the man to accept Blair's absence in his life with that much aplomb. _I hope_.

He shook his head again, angrily denying the thought, but like a stubborn piece of thistle, the idea lodged in the pit of his stomach, refusing to disappear.

He looked down at his almost-untouched plate, swallowing as his guts roiled. "I'm not really hungry, Jim," he said quietly into a lull in the conversation. "I think I'm going to go work on my thesis in my room. Don't stay up."

Jim nodded absently at Blair's words, then blinked as their meaning penetrated, turning to look at his friend as the graduate student stepped toward the kitchen, carrying his plate. "Chief, are you feeling okay? You usually have a better appetite than that. Something I put in the food?"

Blair's smile warmed as he met his friend's intent eyes, relief washing through him. "No, Jim," he said earnestly, "I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow. Besides, I have a class to get ready–" His voice died as he caught Natalie's expression from behind Jim. Hatred ridged the planes of her face, her gaze burning into him, and he blinked, unprepared for the savagery of the expression.

"Well," said Jim, not noticing the drama playing out between his two dinner companions, "if you're sure, Chief. But try to get some sleep, okay? I'd like to have you with me tomorrow if the case goes the way it looks like it might."

"Sure," said Blair numbly. Backing into the kitchen, he placed his dishes in the sink, ignoring Jim's dictums on proper after-supper procedures, then pivoted on the ball of his foot and fled, closing the door to his room on Natalie's sweet smile at him as Jim turned back to her. He shivered.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _Malevolence_ , Blair mused as he sat on his bed, resting an open notebook against his knee. Tapping his pencil on the clean page, he grimaced at the closed bedroom door, his eyes shadowed with worry. _Funny, but with all the people we've met and dealt with, I've never seen an expression I could honestly describe with that word. But that was how she was looking at me – malevolently_.

He shook his head, frustrated. Laying the pencil aside, he tossed the notebook on the desk, ignoring the small swirl of papers at the impact. He sighed, then ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up straight, an echo of his frustration.

_What am I going to do?_

The silence of the room deepened the worry of the question, and he stared at the door again, answerless.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Well, Blair, it sounds to me like you're just jealous."

It was the next day, and Blair had finally managed to corner Simon alone in his office. Jim was downstairs talking to a snitch, and the graduate student had stolen the moment to find Simon, detailing his worry with all the control he could give to the words.

But he hadn't expected his concerns to be so summarily dismissed, and he stared at the captain blankly, the even words sinking to match the feeling of betrayal tightening his gut. "Jealous?"

"That's what I said," Simon replied kindly. "Look, Sandburg, it's not like the two of you are married, you know. It's only to be expected that Jim should find a woman someday; you, too, for all that. Okay, so she's recently widowed, but hey, her husband was thirty years older than she was, maybe the marital situation wasn't all it could've been."

"But–"

"But nothing. I'd think you'd be happy for him. You know he'd be right behind you if you found someone."

Blair gritted his teeth against the words he wanted to use. It wouldn't do any good at all to tell Simon the thought that'd been haunting his dreams all night: _She's evil. Damn it, I know it. And she's after a Sentinel_.

He paced over to the window, peering down at the street, his academic training kicking in. _Maybe there are forces in the world that seek out those with powers of some kind. If that's the case, it's a danger we'll have to keep in mind. Because she is after a Sentinel, and I don't think it's chance_.

 _And his shaman_. The thought crossed his mind, but he shrugged, dismissing it. He had no powers, not like Jim's. But he was responsible for guarding Jim's back, and damn it, he intended to do just that, one way or the other. He turned back to Simon, his jaw tightening at the sympathetic smile the older man wore.

"I'm not jealous, Simon," he said grimly. "I just don't trust her, that's all."

Simon sighed, glancing at his paper-stacked desk. "Well, Sandburg, that's something you'll have to work out with Jim, then. I can't order him not to see her, and frankly, I think you're overreacting. Just a bit," he added hastily as Blair took an angry breath. "Try to back off and think of it from his point of view." He sat down at his desk and looked pointedly at the anthropologist. "Dismissed."

Blair took another breath, then let it out soundlessly. What was the point? No one was listening. He turned and stalked through the door, not being too careful whether it slammed behind him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _But that's just it_ , Blair thought as he sat next to Jim in the truck, trying not to watch his partner too obviously. _I don't think he has a point of view. I think he's– he's– I don't know. Blinded, driven, something. But I do know that this kind of quick involvement isn't normal for him._ He frowned, then shrugged at himself.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Jim really did just find her attractive and wanted a relationship. Maybe he was feeling insecure and going on the defensive.

He looked over at the detective, who was watching the street alertly, gaze flicking from one side to the other.

Jim caught Blair's glance and grinned. "Hungry yet, Chief?"

Relief washed over Blair at the name. "Some. How about you? How about trying some of my–?"

"No," Jim said quickly. "Forget it, Sandburg. If I ate the stuff you did, I'd start growing feathers. How about that place we ate at the other day?"

Blair sighed resignedly. "All right, Jim. But, you know, someday you're going to be sorry you didn't listen to me. All that cholesterol blocking your veins, all those prepackaged foods, they're just killing you slowly. And, man, those lunches you eat, just terrible…"

"Sandburg."

Blair sighed again. "Yeah, Jim, I know."

"Shut up."

Blair shrugged and glanced over at him, warmth coursing through his veins at the ordinary teasing. Maybe he really was exaggerating the problem; yeah, that was it, just too tired the last few days–

His surge of affectionate relief died a quick, cold death as he recognized the song Jim was humming. Natalie had been singing it softly yesterday evening before supper.

Blair's gaze fell, and he turned to stare out the window, his stomach churning with the same sick tension he'd felt for the last few days. He recognized the sensation. Fear. He swallowed, tasting aluminum at the back of his throat.

"What–?" He had to take a breath and try the question again as the words jammed in his throat. "What're you singing, Jim?"

Jim turned to him, frowning. "Huh? Nothing, Chief."

 _Oh, God_. "Well, humming, then," Blair said easily, smiling at him. "It's just that it sounds familiar."

Jim raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sandburg. I wasn't singing anything."

"Oh," Blair said blankly. "My mistake."

"Sure," said Jim, smiling. "Must've been someone's radio or something."

Blair nodded. A few moments later Jim started humming again, and the anthropologist glanced at him, then out the window, silent as he wrapped his arms around himself, fighting back the shivers.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Hey, I know how it goes," Joel sympathized, leaning back in his chair. It was later that afternoon, and Blair had managed to catch him alone, hoping to find a more understanding audience than Simon had been. "Sharing your partner with a woman… That's hard. But it does get easier with time."

Blair shook his head, frustration welling up inside him again. "It's not just that. I don't trust her, Joel. Not with Jim."

Joel hesitated. "Look, Blair, I've never asked you why you're here, but I know it's got something to do with Jim." He held up his hand to stop the automatic protest. "I don't want to know. It's none of my business unless you make it my business, and that's your call. And Jim's. So there're probably parts of this situation I don't know. But for what it's worth, I'll tell you what I see."

Blair closed his mouth, adrenaline jittering through him. How many other people in the precinct had come to the same conclusions? Not many, he hoped. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Okay. What do you see?"

Joel eyed him. "I see two men as unlike as could be who get along like brothers, closer than most partners ever get."

Blair's gaze dropped, warmth surging through him. He could feel the flush in his cheeks, and stared intently at his shoelace.

"And I see an older man, a cop, who used to be a real loner, learning from that great partner/brother relationship that relationships are worth having and working for. I see that man finding a woman and daring, finally, to reach out to her and open up his life to her like he did with his partner."

Blair forced himself to look up as Joel hesitated, his own embarrassment fading as the familiar frustration surged through him again. _No one sees her like me. Is it just me, or am I really overreacting?_

"And?"

Joel glanced away, then back, his gaze steady. "And I see a younger man, who's had a lot of experience with relationships and life, caring for that older man and worrying about his welfare because the older man seems to move so fast, especially when he moved so slowly in the partner relationship he has. And–" Taggert plowed ahead in spite of Blair's attempt to break in. "I see a fear in that younger man that his partner will leave him behind once he builds a new relationship." He met Blair's eyes. "How's my read so far?"

Blair looked away, his jaw tightening. Embarrassment flickered through him, but frustration was stronger. _Damn, damn, damn. Am I really that scared to let Jim go, or is there something else going on here?_ He closed his eyes, centering himself and relaxing, reaching for the truth of his relationship with his friend.

A few moments later he opened his eyes, finding Joel watching him thoughtfully. "No," he said slowly, then backtracked for Taggert. "I think your read's right on as far as it goes, Joel," he said carefully. "But there's more to it than that, and I still think something's wrong between Natalie and Jim."

Taggert cocked his head at him. "She's a very attractive woman, Sandburg."

Blair looked at him. "Is she really, Joel? Because everyone else seems to think so, and I don't find her attractive at all, even when I saw her the first time."

Taggert shrugged. "Sometimes the chemistry's just off, Blair. You know that."

"Yeah," said Blair slowly. "Yeah, I do."

"Anyway," Taggert said briskly, "you wanted my read; you've got it, for what it's worth. Follow your own best judgment, Sandburg, but be careful. You don't want to lose what you have."

Blair nodded. "I'll be careful. Thanks, Joel."

"No problem, Sandburg."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Jim, I want to talk with you. About Natalie." Blair watched Jim carefully, noting the irritated flash of his friend's eyes at the name.

It was lunchtime of the next day, and the anthropologist had decided to try the direct approach. _God knows, nothing else has worked_.

Jim swallowed his bite of hamburger and looked questioningly at Blair, a faint note of annoyance in his voice as he answered, "Sure, Sandburg. What about Natalie?"

Blair hesitated, then said quietly, "How well do you know her, Jim?"

Jim shrugged, frowning. "Probably as well as you do. After all, you've been there every time we've been together. Why?"

Blair chewed his lip. To say or not to say, that was the question. "It just seems like you're moving awfully fast with her. I mean, you've barely known her two and a half weeks, and she's already moved in."

Jim's grimace was quickly gone, but Blair saw it. "Well, after all, Sandburg," he said mildly, "it is my house."

Blair sighed. "Of course it is, Jim. I just don't want you hurt if this relationship doesn't work out."

Jim's eyes softened, but Blair steeled himself and hurried on. "I guess I just want to know your intentions toward her. I mean, if I need to start looking for another place, I'd like to have some warning."

"No!" The word was quick, and Blair frowned as he looked back at his friend, noting the momentarily wide eyes and shocked expression. Was that fear in his voice?

But the next moment it was gone, and Jim's smile was as wide and warm as ever. "No, Sandburg, of course not. It's your home, too, you know."

Blair smiled at him, confused warmth swirling through him. "Thanks, Jim. But, well, what _are_ your intentions toward her?"

Jim frowned, a rapid mélange of emotions crossing his face. Blair saw annoyance, anger, another surge of what he thought was fear, and then acceptance.

"Well, Sandburg, for right now we're just friends," Jim answered simply. "If it gets to more, I'll let you know, okay?"

Blair nodded, wondering why he felt as if the conversation was as empty as the wind brushing through the trees outside. In spite of Jim's earnest attitude, he felt like he stood exactly where he had before he'd even started the discussion, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

_I feel like if I knew what to say, how to say it, when to say it, I could break through this– this… whatever it is. It's like he's surrounded by a glass wall, and if I could only find a way to break it, everything would be all right, just like it was. Like he's right there, just a stone's throw away, and if I could only find the right stone… but I can't._

_And I'm running out of time._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blair climbed the stairs to the loft, every step reluctant. The lights were on above, and he could hear laughter and voices. The feeling of isolation was so intense he found himself wavering, one foot swinging over to the step below, but he gritted his teeth and kept climbing.

 _Damn it, this is my home, too_.

He reached the door and grimly forced himself through it, trying not to shiver as he entered the seemingly warm room. He stood in the living room for a moment, looking into the kitchen.

Jim fished something out of the pan he was cooking and held it lightly out to Natalie, who took it gently in her mouth, smiling. She said something softly, and Jim grinned, then leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.

Blair swallowed dryly, abruptly shivering as cold chills worked down his spine. Jim hadn't even heard him come in, and that… he would've said that was flatly impossible. He didn't remember a single day that he had ever entered this house that Jim hadn't known he was there before he opened the door. Now, though…

He cleared his throat, and purposely dropped his backpack into a chair, ignoring the house rules. Natalie glanced over Jim's shoulder, her eyes narrowing at him, and suddenly Blair felt more than just chilled. Arctic air slid down his back, and he couldn't break her gaze, pinned like a seal on an ice flow. The room edged toward a cold black maze, surrounding him, cutting him off, from Jim and from himself.

Danger thrilled through him, and he pulled up his own visualization of the room, warm and dry and welcoming and home, and suddenly his body was his own again, and Jim's eyes were focused on him, smiling with a warm welcome, and the house was wide and spacious, and Natalie's expression was one of frozen hatred, a faint touch of surprise fading from her gaze.

 _Well, now the war is joined_ , Blair thought grimly, smiling at Jim. The detective touched him lightly on the shoulder, setting three places at the table. _And for both our sakes, I'd better win_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Cold, so cold…

Blair huddled under the light summer blankets, shivering. It was later that night, and he had fallen asleep to the sound of the TV and the soft volume of a taped basketball game played earlier in the season. Natalie had already retired to the upstairs by the time the anthropologist closed his door, and Jim didn't seem disposed to head up there. Blair had smiled, satisfied that he'd won this round.

Now, though…

Cold. It bit deep, so deep that it was getting hard to shiver. He knew, on some level, that that was not a good sign, and moved restlessly, frowning, working toward consciousness.

"No," he whispered, the word slurred. "No, not–"

Cold crashed on him, submerging him in a wave, and Blair curled into a ball, his breath catching, then dropping, fainter and fainter, his muscles relaxing as ice slid through the blankets, through his skin, slowing his blood, slowing his heart, stealing his heat and his life.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim pumped a fist in victory. "Yeah!" he cheered softly. "Way to go!" He dropped back against the couch at the commercial break, sighing in satisfaction. What a night. Everything was right with his world – Blair was home, and so was he. No police work, no phone calls from Simon, nothing but a night at home, with Blair. And Natalie.

He frowned, unease skittering down his spine. Something had bothered him for a while about the woman, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't even a conscious feeling most of the time. But the conversation with Blair earlier that day had forced him to face it. When Blair had asked if he should move out, panic had bolted through Jim's stomach, leaving lunch roiling restlessly. He'd realized something else in that conversation, too.

Why was Blair there every time Jim was with Natalie? Ordinarily, he would've taken her out, had an evening alone, enjoyed himself away from his partner. But this time… It just didn't feel right to be with her without Sandburg being there, too.

Sandburg...

"No… No, not–" The whisper was faint, but Jim sat up straight, immediately alert.

"Blair?" He frowned, focusing.

Blair's heartbeat was fast, and he was shivering. Nightmare?

Jim stood, a shudder crawling down his spine, then Blair's breath caught, his temperature dropping. Jim felt his partner's muscles start to relax, and alarms went off in his head. He spun, throwing the chair backward, and was standing at Blair's door before the echo of the chair legs on the wooden floor died in his ears.

"Blair?" He opened the door and stepped inside, instantly blocking his temperature awareness as the icy cold penetrated. "What the–?" He hesitated, trying not to shiver.

Blair's heart rate dropped subtly, and Jim moved quickly to the bedside, fear shearing through him as his partner relaxed even more.

Yanking the covers from the bed, the Sentinel didn't hesitate, sweeping Blair into his arms and turning toward the door, instinct telling him to move, now, out of the room that was slowly killing his partner.

 _Killing?_ a part of him asked questioningly. Wasn't that exaggerating just a bit? After all, how could it be?

But it was. Blair didn't stir in his arms, his skin cold and clammy against Jim's chest, his breathing slow and shallow.

Jim burst back into the living room, the heat hitting him like a wall. Heading immediately for the couch, he laid the anthropologist on it, quickly grabbing the afghan lying over its back and spreading it over his friend.

Blair sighed softly, snuggling into the warmth offered, and Jim inhaled tensely as he hurried through the kitchen and turned to the linen closet. Discarding his own dictums about the orderly storage of blankets and bedding, he rummaged hastily through the shelves, grabbing several blankets and heading back toward his friend.

Shaking out the three blankets he'd chosen, he tucked Blair in tightly, listening to his breathing deepen as the warmth penetrated. Shivers abruptly racked his partner, and Jim smiled in relief as Blair's physical defenses started catching up with his current state.

The Sentinel took his first deep breath since hearing Blair's voice. It was over. Whatever had almost happened… hadn't, and Blair would be fine–

"My goodness, Jim, what happened?"

Jim whirled, crouched and ready for attack, all his senses on alert.

Natalie blinked at him, her eyes wide at his guard stance. "I'm truly sorry, Jim; I didn't mean to startle you. But what happened to Blair?"

Jim straightened, his senses still humming in high gear. "Sorry, Natalie. Nothing's wrong with Blair." Behind him he heard Blair's breathing catch, then smooth out again.

"I hope not," Natalie said earnestly, moving to stand closer to him, reaching a hand to touch his arm. "Because I would never want you to be without him. He means so much to you, and so to me…"

Jim blinked down at Natalie, striving to focus on her words. What had she said? Why did it matter, though? What did matter was the sound of her voice, how relaxed he was, listening to it… nothing else mattered… nothing but her.

Blair's breathing quickened as he felt the strain on his Sentinel, and he struggled for consciousness, aware of the battle but unable to join it. He had relaxed so much under Jim's caring that now it was doubly difficult to resist the focused cold that dropped on him again, duel daggers drilling straight into his mind and heart. His body relaxed again, the shivers dying, and his focus on the present faded, caught up in the frigid agony coring through his head and chest.

Blair's heart slowed, then tripped, slowing again, and Jim frowned, his focus on Natalie's voice wavering as his partner's life waned. Blair convulsed, a soft, choked cry escaping him as his body used its last defense.

Jim jerked backward, out of Natalie's touch, spinning to drop to his knees beside his partner, one hand smoothing back Blair's wild hair as he checked his temperature. Cold, so cold…

Jim bolted toward the thermostat, turning it to high and quickly returning to his former position, only vaguely noting that Natalie was nowhere in sight. The cold was not quite as piercing now, but instinct goaded him, and he hefted Sandburg off the couch, then seated himself and pulled his friend against his chest. Blair murmured deep in his throat and snuggled closer, and Jim felt a half-smile tug at his lips as his partner's heart steadied and his breathing deepened.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _I do not like this!_ Blair stared hard at Jim, his jaw clenched so tightly that his head hurt. Across the room he ignored Natalie's sweet smile, aware of the victory in it. _He doesn't even remember!_

It was the next morning, and for all the tension that Jim displayed, the night before, Blair's close escape from death, twice at that, Jim's own actions to save his life, Natalie's net of words, all of it… might as well not have happened.

 _Maybe it didn't_ , Blair thought, panic skittering up his spine. _Maybe I dreamed all of it, maybe I'm going nuts, maybe–_

He saw the twitch of Natalie's lips and deliberately hauled himself away from that precipice. No. He was sane and his memory was complete. Last night _had_ happened, and he wasn't going to deny it. If he did, she would win, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

 _Not without a fight like you've never seen, lady_ , he thought, his eyes steady on her.

She bit her lip and looked away, and Blair wondered if she could read his mind. But he didn't think so. He'd be willing to bet, though, that she could read his aura, his emotions. _And maybe use them against me, too_ , he cautioned himself. Whatever or whoever she was, power was something she wielded with ease, and this fight would not be a simple one to win.

He turned his attention to his partner, willing him to remember, not just last night but all the months and adventures the two of them shared. Watching Jim sip his orange juice, he caught the frown, quickly hidden, as he glanced from Blair to Natalie, and felt his pulse leap at the spark of unease in the dark blue eyes. Jim might not remember details, but he knew that something was wrong, and he was fighting hard.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blair flipped through the book, examined the index, then shoved it aside and looked through the stack that wavered on his desk. Picking the third from the top, he dumped the other two on a semi-clear spot on the cluttered bed, and thumbed hungrily through the text, stopping here and there to read. Ecuador, Peru, Afghanistan, even Alaska. Many of the native peoples had tales of evil people that resembled Natalie, but so far he'd only found hints of rituals used to banish her or guard from her.

He looked up as the front door opened and closed, heralding either Jim's arrival, or Natalie's, or both. The momentary distraction cost him, and he hissed as his finger slid along the page, cutting the flesh nicely. He grimaced as the blood welled up, holding it well away from the book lest it stain the pages, and laid the text down, careful not to let the drop fall. Backing away from the papers scattered across his desk and bed, he lifted the finger to his mouth, his gaze searching for the box of Kleenex he knew he'd seen sometime recently.

"Don't."

The whisper was soft, and Blair jumped as a soft hand caught his finger before he could insert it into his mouth. He blinked, glanced over his shoulder at his now open door, then back to Natalie.

"What–?" he started, then shook himself and started to wrench away, but her eyes caught his and he couldn't move.

 _Topaz, that's the shade_ , he thought numbly, unable to focus past the wide gaze. So soft, so easy, so–

 _What the hell am I doing?!_ He twisted away, closing his eyes against the allure of her gaze and calling on his own will. His hand slipped out of hers and he turned on her, eyes open and anger rushing through him. "What do you–?"

His words died as he saw the drop of blood glistening on her finger. His blood, and he watched, silenced by a dawning realization of the meaning of her actions, as she drew a fingernail across her palm. Blood sprang up in a thin line, and Blair took a breath as her intention blossomed in his mind. He leaped forward, his hands catching hers as she started to bring them together.

"No!" he gritted, his forearms straining against her strength. It was a strength that supported everything he'd suspected, for it was inhuman. Blair was no weight lifter, but he was no weakling, either, and he knew martial arts holds that should have made her weaken. But she didn't, and as she forced her hands closer, Blair narrowed his eyes and fought with more than just physical strength, calling on visualization and his own determination. Her hands slowed until they were barely an inch or two apart, blood gleaming on both, an even match.

It was a silent struggle, and Natalie's expression was as intent as Blair's, but now she looked up at him and smiled.

"Hey, you two, what's going on?"

The split second of distraction that Jim's voice provided was enough, and Natalie brought her hands together as Blair's attention wavered for an instant.

"No!"

"Yes!" The blood mingled, and Blair gritted his teeth, denying her power over him with all the practice he could bring to it.

Her smile widened. "Oh, but Blair, it's not you I want, not that way."

Blair's hands fell to his sides, his arm muscles aching as he watched her rub the blood in along her own small cut. "Why then? Why me?" Neither of them glanced at Jim, who stood watching them in bewilderment.

"Because," she said, looking up at him, "you can fight this, but he cannot." She nodded toward the Sentinel without looking at him.

"Why not? He's not weak! And it's not his blood…" Blair trailed off, a chill shaking down his spine.

"No," she said delicately, "but you and he are bound by more than blood. You have shared that and more across your time together. Much of his current strength has been gained through growth with you, and so your blood empowers me over him as well, granting me part of his own power and some of your own. And, to some extent, I now have power over you as well. Even you cannot deny me wholly. Not now. Not when you stand alone."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

And that was true, Blair thought bleakly as he lay in bed that night, staring into the dark, sleepless. He was alone now. Jim might well have fought free of Natalie's influence before this incident, given time, but now there was no time left. Jim would not fight his partner, and the use of Blair's blood enabled Natalie to tap their bond to use against the Sentinel.

And Blair didn't know what to do about it.

 _Damn it_ , he thought angrily, gritting his teeth against the ever-present headache. _If she had just used it against me, I might've been able to block her – God knows, I've dealt with enough "magic" in native cultures to know how it works and how to work against it. But using me against Jim…_ He let out a short, frustrated breath.

 _There's no one I can go to about this_ , he thought despairingly. _No one'll believe me, no one'll act. And I'm running out of ideas_. He blinked at the ceiling. _Correction. I'm out of ideas_.

He drew a breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. _Except one_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

It was the next morning, and Blair stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Jim shave and gathering his courage. He knew it might already be too late; he had caught Natalie laughing with Jim a few minutes earlier as she wiped a small run of blood from his face, and been unable to stop her exit with it.

It hadn't been for lack of trying. He had bounded forward, adrenaline fueling the movements, and then she had turned and met his eyes and he jolted to a stop, riveted by the echo of Jim's shout.

"Blair! Freeze! Stay right there, okay? And _don't move!_ "

It took him several long seconds to shake the automatic impulse to obey the shouted command, too many seconds to realize that the voice, the order, Jim's fear, were all illusion, and he the unwary victim. He hadn't considered that Natalie's use of the bond between them might run both ways, and by the time he freed himself she was gone.

He didn't dare waste any time in self-recrimination, though – every second counted now. Hopefully Natalie needed to perform a ritual to engage the full use of Jim's blood, since he was her primary goal, so maybe… He took a breath and stepped forward, leaning against the doorframe and watching Jim in the mirror. "Jim, she's got to go."

"Hmm?" Jim said, somewhat indistinctly through the foam and the sound of the shaver.

Blair took a breath, urgency hammering at him. "She's dangerous, Jim. Can't you feel it?"

Jim cast a slightly concerned gaze at him, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "Chief? Are you feeling all right?"

"No," Blair gritted through his teeth, glancing nervously back toward the rest of the house. "I'm not! Come on, Jim, remember, please! Remember the other night, when I nearly died and you dug me out of my blankets and brought me in here and saved my life? Remember how Natalie almost did it again? Remember–" He loosed a frustrated breath at Jim's worried look as the Sentinel turned to face him. "Okay, look, Jim, you do remember who I am, right?"

Jim hiked an eyebrow at him and turned back to the mirror, lifting the shaver for another pass. "Sure I do, Chief. You're the weird neo-hippie who threw us both under a garbage truck to save my life. And I think for both our sakes I'd better get you in to see the department shrink today."

Blair felt tears clog the back of his throat, and he swallowed. "Then for God's sake, Jim, trust me when I say that she's deadly to both of us. Please!"

Jim turned to look at him, his expression suddenly serious. "You really mean this, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"All right," said Jim slowly, his eyes holding Blair's. "I guess that means that the other night wasn't just a dream, right?"

"Right," Blair breathed, his heart hammering in his throat.

"Then–"

And it was gone, all of it – the serious belief, the trust, the understanding, the memory, all of it, and Jim turned back to shaving, whistling Natalie's tune softly under his breath.

Blair felt his hope drain away like water. So close, damn it, so close, just a few words more… He knew instinctively that if Jim had made a commitment to believe in the danger that Natalie posed she would've lost. But now– Now there was only one last, faint chance.

He drew a breath, trying to steady his voice, and ignoring the soft footsteps pacing toward him from behind. "Jim, it's either her or me, I swear. Either she goes, or I do. I mean it, Jim, I'll move out, and you'll never see me again."

"That's fine," Jim said absently, working on the last splotch of foam. "Whatever you want, Sandburg."

Blair sank back, absently glad that he was leaning on the door because he wasn't sure his knees would've supported him otherwise. He turned, meeting Natalie's victorious smile head-on. "I don't know what you've done here, but I promise you, if you do anything to Jim–"

Blair honestly didn't know what he would have done if he had completed the move. He had never struck anyone in anger, but the bitter rage and hatred twisting through him demanded an outlet, and he had every intention of killing her.

But he never got the chance.

His fingers curled around her throat, and cold, icy fire warped through him, slicing through connections in one long arctic moment. He couldn't even whimper, and as he wilted bonelessly to the floor, the last thing he saw was Jim whistling as he carefully finished shaving, only a few feet away.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blair was sitting on the rock outcrop when he arrived, and Jim nodded to him, climbing up to join him and leaning back against the tree. His gaze wandered across the vast expanse below them for a while, taking in the rolling hills of pine and soaking in the tranquility around him. He hadn't felt tranquil in a long time.

"Well," Blair said finally, looking over at him, "are you going to think about it or not?"

Jim started slightly and glanced over at him. He was dreaming and he knew it. It was a strange feeling, and he took a moment to ponder it. He only remembered knowing he was dreaming once before, and that had been in the jungle.

"It's what you came here to do, right?"

Jim took a breath. Thank God this _was_ a dream; if Blair were really able to read his mind like this, he'd be way out of his league. But since Blair was part of the dream, too, it made sense. After all, he had come here to think.

"Yeah," he said slowly, "I did."

"And?"

Jim sighed. "I don't know. I'm not even really sure what to think about, or where to start. Other than the obvious, I mean. You're being gone, for starters."

Blair shook his head. "No way, man. That's the end, not the beginning – for me, at least; for both of us. Start at the beginning."

Jim frowned, working his way backward. "It began with her."

"Yeah," Blair said softly, leaning forward, his eyes intense on Jim.

"And with you," Jim said slowly. He looked across at Blair, meeting his eyes and distantly marveling at the similarity of his subconscious creation to the man he knew. "Why didn't I go out with her, Chief?"

Blair shrugged. "What do you think?"

"I– I don't know," Jim mused, staring over the mountains. "Because… Because I was afraid, I think." He turned his gaze to the dream Blair. "I wanted you there."

Warmth touched the anthropologist's eyes, and he cocked his head at Jim. "Thanks, man. But she didn't."

A chill raced across Jim's neck at the casual assertion of self by a dream character, then he shrugged it aside. "No," he said thoughtfully. "She wanted you… I don't know."

"Available?" Blair questioned softly.

"Yeah," Jim nodded. "Available."

"But not competing for you."

Jim flushed. "What am I, a prize at a carnival booth? Three tosses and you win one Jim Ellison?"

"Well," said Blair quietly, "that's the way it seemed to work, didn't it? If I was there, she didn't want me getting in the way with you, and that certainly sounds like winning to me."

Jim clenched his fists, a dull, sullen anger surging through him. He hated being used, or manipulated, or–

"Owned?" Blair said softly. He rose, eyes gleaming. "Maybe we were both owned, Jim. It would explain why she had to have both of us, but in different ways. You she had to have physically and emotionally, me she had to have available, but out of the way. I mean, think about it – it makes sense!"

Jim was on his feet, chills arcing down his back as he edged backward. He knew his own limitations, even in a dreaming state, and he could never have produced a Blair that sounded that excited, so much like the real one…

Blair halted, looking back at him, realization in his face, and some resigned dismay. "Oh, damn it, Jim, I'm sorry."

Jim took another step backward. "What–? Who are you?"

Blair took a breath, blew it out again. "I did a lot of dream work when I was growing up, Jim. And a lot more when I was working with tribal people. There was this one shaman, I mean, he was amazing. Really amazing, you know? He could–" He stopped, shaking himself out of the academic passion that had grabbed him.

Jim watched him, shivering as weirdness crawled over him. _He's– He's real! Oh my God_.

Blair turned to look at him, his blue eyes intense. "I'm your shaman, too, Jim, not just the city's. Remember?" He swung his arm around to indicate the landscape. "I created my own kind of space and hoped that if I called you, you'd come, and we could work this thing out here, away from her influence." He stopped and looked at Jim. "But I didn't mean for you to find out I was me, this soon. I'm sorry, Jim."

Jim shook his head and kept shaking it. "You're not– You can't be– What do you mean? Where are you, anyway?"

Blair spread his hands in an obviously calming gesture. "Jim. Trust me, please. Come back and sit down, and we'll talk this thing out. Please."

Jim studied him, breathing fast. Frustrated fear was close behind the blue eyes, and the worry Jim saw there was for himself. That convinced him more than anything else – Blair always worried about Jim, never about himself. But the sheer unadulterated eeriness of sharing dream space, his own dream space, with someone else, especially Blair, was still driving him. It broke the unwritten, unconscious pact with his own subconscious mind – that this space was sacrosanct, private as no other space could be. He teetered on the edge of panic for a long moment, then took a deep breath and forced it away.

This was real. And he was awake, and dreaming. And Blair was real, and here. And they had business, urgent business, to take care of, here.

He relaxed, then threw out his arms as he tried to keep his balance. Looking down, he realized he stood on the very edge of the cliff, and he wavered wildly, arms windmilling as he tried to halt the imminent fall.

It was too late, and he slipped, slid on the loose scree, and fell, catching sight of Blair's frenzied rush toward him as empty air claimed him. He heard his partner's yell as he somersaulted downward, "Don't forget, Jim! Please don't forget!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim started, sitting up with a jerk as his insides bottomed out, the impression of suddenly finishing a roller coaster ride unmistakable. Beside him, Natalie stirred sleepily.

"Jim?" she asked, eyes still closed.

He looked down at her, feeling as if he was suddenly a stranger in his own home, his own life. Why was she here? Where was–?

"Blair?" he said aloud.

Natalie's eyes snapped open, and he couldn't miss the sudden, piercing gleam in them. Without thinking, he relaxed, walling away some part of himself behind a barrier that he couldn't have described even to himself.

The world made sense now, and he wondered for a moment what he'd been thinking when he woke up. It didn't matter, he decided. It wasn't important anyway.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Hey, Jim," Taggert greeted casually late that afternoon as he paused by Jim's desk, eying Natalie as she entered the women's restroom across the office, "where's the kid?"

Jim glanced up, smiling. "Hi, Joel. Oh, he's gone." He looked back at his report, not noticing Taggert's wide-eyed stare.

"Gone?" Joel repeated carefully when Jim didn't continue. "What do you mean, gone?"

Jim looked up again, faint surprise on his features. "Oh, you know, couldn't hack police work, had to get back to his classes, that kind of thing."

Joel opened his mouth, then shut it as Natalie stepped back through the restroom door. "Oh. Well, you know how it goes, amateurs can't hack it like us pros."

"Um-hm," Jim said absently, not noticing the strain under his friend's tone.

Joel nodded to Natalie and looked down at Jim. "Well, I'm off, so I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, have a good night," said Jim cheerfully, greeting Natalie with a bright smile as she stopped beside his desk, eying Joel with an intensity that made the older officer bite back a shiver in spite of her soft manner.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"It's not right, Simon," Joel said softly.

Simon picked up one of his cigars from a box on his desk and rolled it between his fingers, studying it intently. Finally he sighed and dropped it on his desk, looking up. "I don't like it, either, Joel, but what can we do? The kid had every right to go back to his own life, after what's happened to him here. Hell, it was bound to happen eventually – he's not a police officer, after all."

Joel shook his head. "He didn't."

Simon frowned at him. "Didn't what?"

"Go back to his own life."

Simon leaned forward, then rose and stepped behind Joel, sliding the blinds shut and locking the office into its own private space. When he turned, there was no sign of levity on his face. "What do you mean?"

Joel took a breath and seated himself, his mouth tight. "He's missing, Simon. I checked the campus, talked with his department, even found a few of his friends. Blair hasn't been to campus in the last week, and no one there's heard anything from him."

Simon slowly crossed the office and sat in his chair again, looking across at Joel. "Doesn't he teach a class or something?"

Taggert nodded. "Or something. The kid teaches two classes, works at the museum on some project with a classmate, does the observer thing with Jim, _and_ works on his dissertation. He was also supposed to present a paper to a group of graduate students this last week."

Simon flipped a pencil between two fingers. "I take it he hasn't been there to do all that."

Joel grimaced. "No, he hasn't, and everyone's either mad or worried about him. His department head is both, says that Blair's one of her most responsible doctorate students and has never done anything like this without informing people. She knows about his work with us and how dangerous it's been sometimes, so _she_ asked _me_ about him."

"What'd you tell her?"

Taggert shrugged. "What _could_ I tell her? That for all intents and purposes the kid's vanished into thin air and the officer he's assigned to observe doesn't even seem to notice?"

Simon blinked at the angry tone, then closed his mouth as Taggert continued.

"Look, Simon, I know that there's something special about Blair and Jim, but whatever it is, I'm Sandburg's friend, too. And if you've assigned him undercover or something–"

"Are you kidding?!" Simon shot to his feet. "The kid's an _observer_ , not an officer under my command! I'd never–"

"You did before."

Simon sighed, sinking into his seat again. "Yeah, I did. Once. And only with Jim in the middle of it, too. And I'd never do it again."

Taggert studied him. "So you're saying you don't know anything about this?"

Simon sighed again. "No, Joel, I don't. The two of them aren't working on anything like that, and Jim hasn't mentioned Blair to me at all."

Joel sighed, too. "Simon, what about her?" He jerked his thumb backward at the office behind the slatted blinds.

Simon hrumphed. "What about her? She's not riding along with Jim, if that's you mean. Their private arrangements are none of my business, and frankly, Joel, none of yours either. As far as I'm concerned–"

"Sandburg talked to you about her and Jim, too, didn't he."

It wasn't a question, and Simon stopped mid-sentence, blinking at Joel. "You, too?"

Taggert nodded. "A few days before he vanished. Said he didn't trust her with Jim."

Simon grimaced. "Same here."

"Well," Joel said softly, "I'm beginning to think I don't either."

Simon was silent for a long moment, then nodded. "Why don't we find out just who she is, then."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim stood on the mountaintop again and looked down at his partner, his mouth crooking a little. Blair lay curled on a blanket, his head resting on one arm, eyelashes dark against his fair skin. His hair was even wilder than usual, and Jim's smile grew as he dug a toe gently into his friend's side.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he said as Blair stirred, opening one sleep-fogged eye to stare up at him. "Wake up. We have things to talk about."

Blair opened both eyes, then abrupt enthusiasm surged through him and he sat up with a jerk. "You remembered!"

Jim's smile died and he joined Blair on the blanket. "Yeah, I did. Once I fell asleep, anyway."

"But not before?" Blair's question was quiet, but Jim scowled.

"No," he answered slowly, looking back over his memories of the day. "Damn it, Sandburg!" he snapped, his jaw tight. "What the hell has she done to me? It's like I walk in a fog, and I don't remember anything when I'm doing it."

Blair ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze steady on Jim's face. "I've got a theory about that," he said cautiously, "but I don't have much evidence."

"Well, I don't have much time, either," growled Jim. "Talk."

Blair sighed. "I think she's a vampire. A psychic vampire," he hurriedly added before Jim could interrupt. "She fits some of the descriptions I found in my research – a being who feeds psychically or spiritually on someone she chooses, eventually…" He ran out of steam, looking away from Jim.

"Eventually what, Sandburg?"

Blair inhaled. "She eventually kills them, sucking them dry of spirit before going on to search for someone else, getting stronger every time."

Jim's teeth gritted. "Well, she's not going to do that to me." He paused, thinking back over the conversation and frowned. "What about you?"

Blair shrugged. "It's not me she wants, Jim, it's you. You're the one we have to concentrate on here."

Jim's eyes narrowed. He knew when his partner was avoiding answers, could feel it in his gut, and this was one of those times. "Really? Funny. I seem to recall last time you had a theory that she had to have us both."

Blair shrugged, looking up at Jim with clear eyes. "I did some thinking about it after you left and, well, the evidence doesn't match up."

Jim studied him for a long moment, then said quietly, "Where are you, Blair? Your body, I mean," he added at the anthropologist's blank look.

Blair lifted a shoulder. "I don't know, man. I don't remember waking up since she, uh, so–"

"But you're not in the loft," Jim interrupted, watching Blair closely.

His partner blinked. "I don't know. But I don't think so. It would be too hard to keep it secret."

"All right," Jim said crisply, "that's it. What aren't you telling me, Sandburg? And don't try the innocent act again," he warned as Blair looked up at him with wide eyes. "I didn't buy it the first time and I don't buy it now. What does she want from you, Chief?"

He saw the subtle shift of his friend's glance and glared at him. "You do know, don't you? Come on, Chief, we're supposed to be partners here, remember? How can I fight her if I don't have all the facts? What does she want from you?"

Blair grimaced. "Can't we just concentrate on you? If you can break her hold, we don't have to worry about me anyway, so–"

"What. Does. She. Want. From. You."

Blair closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping. "Control."

"Control?" Jim repeated softly. "Of what, or who?" He stopped, the realization hitting him like a chunk of brick. "Me. It's me, isn't it? She's got you to use against me if I get out of line. Blackmail… The bitch."

"It's more than that." Blair raised his eyes to Jim, resigned. "It's not just physical, Jim."

Jim frowned at him. "What do you mean, it's not physical? It's always physical, Chief. She has you, I don't resist, she thinks. But we'll have to work our way around that."

"No, Jim!" Blair interrupted again, his jaw set. "It's not just physical. I told you, she deals with the psychic or spiritual part of the one she chooses. It's got nothing to do with physical except as a way to seal that to her."

"Then what?"

Blair swallowed, his gaze holding Jim's. "You're a Sentinel, Jim. I'm your shaman, your guide, your partner, whatever you want to call it. She holds me; she can use me against you on both the psychic and the spiritual plane." He plowed ahead in spite of Jim's attempts to break in. "The research I did says that she usually chooses two to bond with. They have to be… close, either friends or lovers. One she connects with on the psychic and spiritual level, and she uses the physical to make that stronger. The other… " He hesitated, then continued before Jim could prompt him. "She connects with him physically and uses the bonds between the two to control them both."

Jim swallowed, then swallowed again, trying to get rid of the taste of bile. "God," he whispered. "But then why did she try to kill you in the beginning? That doesn't make sense."

Blair plucked a grass blade and stuck it between his teeth, chewing it absently. "I don't know. My hypothesis is that she saw me as too much of a threat to her control of you, but when you reacted so strongly to her attempts to kill me, she realized that my death would make her job harder rather than easier. She must've figured that if she could use us against each other, she would be that much stronger, so she changed her tactics."

Jim grimaced. "Makes sense." The explanation replayed in his mind, and he caught one word amongst the rest. "Bonded physically?" he asked. "Does that mean…? Sandburg, did you take her to bed?"

Blair blinked at him, shock running over his face like water. "Did I–? No, Jim, of course not. I didn't want to be in the same apartment with her, forget about the same bed! No, she took my blood."

"Blood!"

"Only a drop," said Blair hurriedly, and explained the incident. "But it was enough." He clenched his fist and struck the ground, not looking at Jim. "I wasn't strong enough to stop her. If I'd been working out like I should've been, maybe. I'm sorry, Jim. Sorry. If–"

"Forget it, Sandburg," said Jim gently, lifting the clenched fingers and prying them open. "You couldn't know. Anyway, from what you said, the woman isn't human, and she's probably stronger than either of us. I should be the one apologizing, not you. At least you were fighting."

Blair blinked at him as Jim released his hand. "But you did, Jim. You saved my life twice, and that last day… you almost did it. If she hadn't gotten your blood and already had mine, we would've won right then."

"'Almost' doesn't cut it, Chief," Jim said grimly. "The fact is, she has me and she has you, and until we figure a way to fight her, we're on the losing side. So how do we do that?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim caught his breath with a gasp, sitting up as he swallowed the elevator drop feeling in his stomach. Natalie stirred beside him, and Jim looked down at her, holding onto his memory of the mountain, of Blair, and of their plan with all his strength. He concentrated on the link between himself and his partner, seeing it in his mind's eye as an unbreakable steel cord, unable to be cut or used by anyone but the two of them. He knew that Blair had been concentrating on a similar image as he sat cross-legged on the mountain, eyes closed, his image fading as he sought his own body. If they both struck at the same moment…

Natalie tensed, her eyes springing open, and Jim felt the tug in himself, a sense of Blair he could never have described to anyone else and one he wasn't sure he would have noticed even now if he hadn't been suffering from lack of its use.

He stared down at Natalie, seeing the cord in his mind, strong and sturdy, binding himself and Blair together.

"No!" Natalie hissed, unwinding from the blankets like a serpent, her steady gaze on him. "No, I will not have it so!"

Jim bared his teeth in a tight grin. "Oh, yes, you will, lady!" He felt the pressure leaning on him, the need to forget, to sink into her eyes, her presence… The sheets were soft, the pillows welcoming.

Jim took a breath, fastening on his image of the cord with all the single-minded concentration he brought to his sensory focus. The cord was there, his and Blair's alone, belonging to no one else.

"Ahhh!"

He heard Blair's whispered gasp as a surge of heat whipped down the cord, and his focus wavered, then firmed as he felt his partner's determination to stay the course.

He grinned at Natalie. "You can't break us, lady. Give it up."

She smiled at him, sensuously. "Are you sure?" she purred. "His body is weaker than yours, you know. He has not eaten for days now. His soul is strong, but the flesh is weak."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you. And it doesn't matter anyway. This is ours, we want you out of it."

Her smile widened and she laid a hand on his arm, reaching to touch a figurine – one of Blair's gifts to Jim – on the bedstand with the other. "Really?"

Pain suddenly racked him, cold ice sliding through him in furrows. He tried to jerk away from her, but her touch, though light, was impossible to escape, and he bent against the frigid waves flooding through him, closing his eyes against her smile. He could feel Blair's own torment surging up the link to meet his own, and he tried not to whimper as the icy fire swelled higher, blackness following in its wake. He felt himself crumble, felt Blair do the same, and then there was only the grey fog he was so familiar with by now.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Simon inserted the key into the lock and turned it, his jaw tight as he pushed the door open and walked into Jim's apartment. Joel followed, pausing to shut the door behind them, then stepped quickly ahead of Simon as the captain hesitated. It was the day after their talk, and Simon had reluctantly agreed to a search of his friend's apartment while he was on duty.

"I don't like it, Joel," he grumbled. "Maybe we're just imagining things. The kid probably just left to go visit his mother or something. This is _not_ our concern, damn it!"

"No, he didn't," said Joel from the other room. "Go visit his mother," he added as Simon turned the corner with a puzzled expression. "Take a look," the older man added, waving a hand at the open door leading to Blair's bedroom.

Simon stepped in, his eyebrows peaking at the disorder of the room. The bed was unmade, the desk covered with roughly sorted papers and notes. Three large bookcases stretched to the ceiling, crammed with books and journals and notebooks. A couple of shirts hung across one chair, a light jacket on the doorknob of the closet. It was obviously not the room of a man who had left the life of a police observer behind him.

Joel bent, pulling open drawers. Underwear, socks, sweaters, T-shirts… "Nothing's gone," he said grimly, turning to the closet and pulling it open. Slacks and shirts hung silently in the darkened space, no more than a few empty hangers gleaming in the light. "If he left, he didn't take any clothes with him." He turned, striding out of the room. "I'll check the rest of the house for fingerprints."

"Yeah," Simon said absently. "You do that." He stared around the room, wondering about the man who had inhabited it. "Damn it, Sandburg," he said softly, "where are you? Jim would die for you in an instant, and he doesn't even seem to know you're gone. What the hell's going on?"

He shook his head and turned toward the doorway, then stopped. Blair had tried to talk to him about Natalie, and then talked to Joel about her as well. The kid was always taking notes, always writing, researching… Didn't it stand to reason that he would've done that about this situation, whatever it was? So maybe there was something he'd left here.

 _And better I look than Joel_ , thought Simon as he swiveled back to face the bed.

He glanced around the room, wondering where to look first. He really didn't know the kid all that well, and it was hard to predict how he thought, which, he had to admit, was a shame. There was more to Blair Sandburg than appeared on the surface, and Simon was unable to deny his curiosity about the man who had managed to work his way into Jim Ellison's work and heart and home.

Simon bent to read some of the titles on the nearest bookcase, his gaze skimming the books and settling on the binders filling the middle two shelves. Blinking at the neatly printed labels set in the spines of the wide-ring notebooks, he admitted to himself that he'd never expected to see anything quite so organized in Blair's life. _Sentinel Notes_ sat next to _Sentinels Across Tribal Cultures_ , while _Guardians of the Tribes_ nestled next to _Mythos and Magic: Sentinels of the Past_.

Bending further, Simon realized that the next to last shelf was filled with smaller binders labeled simply _Notes 1_ , _Notes 2_ , and so on, the numbers ending at thirteen. Simon frowned, then pulled one out and glanced through it. Jim's name leaped out at him on page after page, and Simon quickly glanced around for Joel, finding him nowhere in sight. Creaks overhead indicated that the officer was in the loft, and Simon went back to browsing, feeling slightly guilty for the invasion of privacy, but unable to ignore his own curiosity. He'd always wondered what Blair's studies of Jim really entailed, and what he'd found out. Not to mention how he got the officer to cooperate.

Blair's handwriting was neat and precise, quite opposite to Simon's interpretation of the man, and he wondered, rather uneasily, if he'd been doing the anthropologist an injustice. He focused on the page he'd flipped to, drawn into the words in spite of himself. It took about two pages before Simon realized that Blair was describing the incident with Lash, and he quickly closed the book, embarrassment sweeping over him. In spite of the objectivity of the writing, it was clear that Blair's notes didn't focus just on the anthropologist's study of Jim as a Sentinel, but also on the relationship he and Jim shared.

Simon shoved the book back onto the shelf and glanced around the room again, seeking something, anything, that would explain the current situation. One thing was clear: Blair had no more left the house or his work with Jim than he had decided to go off and scuba dive into the Marianna Trench, and that realization made the pit of Simon's stomach clench.

Banks' gaze fell on a stack of books in a corner, and he wandered over to look at them, his interest sharpening at the titles. _Legends of Evil Among the Ecuadorian Peoples_ ; _Mythical Dangers of the Peruvians_ ; _Heroes, Demons and Monkeys: The Maze in Which They Live_ ; _Hazards and Perils of the Ancient Mythos_.

The list went on, and Simon went down on one knee to pluck the top book on the pile, flipping it open to skim the table of contents. Five minutes later, he met Joel in the den, handing him some of the stack of books he himself carried. "Look through these and see what you think," he ordered brusquely as Joel took the books, looking curiously at them. "Did you find anything?"

Joel nodded. "Some solid fingerprints, and I don't think they're Jim's. Ladies' face creams," he said at Simon's questioning look.

Simon smiled thinly. "That sounds about right. Did you get rid of the evidence?"

Taggert nodded confidently. "Yeah, no problem. They won't know we were here."

"Good," grunted Simon, shifting the books to the other arm as he opened the front door. "Like I said, look through those books and see if you come up with anything, no matter how weird it sounds."

Taggert followed him outside, not speaking until they were in the captain's car again. "So that's how it goes, huh?"

Simon glanced at him, then back to the road as he pulled out into traffic.

"Simon," said Taggert quietly, "it might be good to tell me what's going down between Jim and Sandburg. Might help going through these books, you know."

Simon was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. "Sorry, Joel, but it's not my call. You'll have to get that from them."

Joel sighed and started glancing through the books on his lap.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim stood at the top of the mountain and gazed around, his heart clenching. Blair was gone, and not all of the Sentinel's shouting and searching could find him.

"Damn her," he whispered, his hands balling into impotent fists at his sides. "What did she do?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

It was a rainy morning, typical of Seattle in the late summer, and the light that filtered into the room made the off-white walls and creamy carpet look gray and dingy. Combined with the lack of furniture, there wasn't much for Blair to do but stare wearily out the window from his bed and think. _What day is it?_ he wondered, watching a raindrop roll down the glass, gaining momentum. He'd lost track.

What was Jim doing today, right now? Did he remember their meetings at all, or their failed attack? What had her strike against them done to him? Could he fight her alone, as he would have to now? Could Blair?

Blair winced away from that thought. He'd have to, that was all there was to it. He had woken after the attack, aching in every bone, to find himself in this sterile white room, and he knew without trying that he couldn't reach that dreamspace again. Ordinary sedation was one thing, but something must've been added to the IV that dripped patiently into his arm. Past a certain level his thoughts were foggy, though on the surface he felt fine. But it took more control than he had to lucid dream. Muscle relaxants did that to you.

 _Plus whatever else she's dropped into my system_ , Blair thought, adrenaline skittering through him as the door behind him opened. He turned his head, watching as a young man, blond-haired and blue-eyed but with a set expression, rolled breakfast in.

 _Private nurse?_ Blair wondered. For all he knew, he might even be in a hospital, a private one, anyway. Or a private nursing home. There was no knowing how far Natalie's threads stretched, or what lies she'd told to get and keep him there. He took a breath, watching silently as the stranger swung the tray around and settled himself to feed the anthropologist.

"Hey," Blair said, pausing to clear his throat as the sound emerged as a croak. "I'm Blair, Blair Sandburg. What's your name?"

"Neil," the man said. There was no inflection in his voice, and Blair shivered.

Neil lifted a spoonful of oatmeal to Blair's lips, and the anthropologist turned his head, grimacing. "You know, I can feed myself if you'll just untie me. Just my hands, I mean. It's not like I can run away–"

"No," said a soft voice behind him that stopped him mid-word, icy chills thrumming down his back, "you can't."

Blair's hands clenched under the restraints that held them, and he twisted, trying to see her.

Soft laughter echoed, and Natalie moved into his line of sight, smiling. "Oh, don't bother, my brave knight. You're mine and you know it."

Blair gritted his teeth, relaxants forgotten as every muscle tensed. But the effort was useless, and he laid helplessly still, straps tight against his shoulders, hips, and ankles.

She leaned over and kissed him.

Blair choked and turned away, revulsion surging through him, and he saw a flash of anger in her eyes as she raised her head. "Am I so ugly to you, then?"

"Yes," Blair said, strongly if unwisely.

Her anger faded as she gazed down at him, Neil standing patiently behind her. "That is as it should be," she said softly. "Though I have never had a bonded one that resisted as have you."

"What about Jim?" Blair said curtly.

"Oh, true, true," Natalie admitted easily. "Together and apart, you are unique in my experience. But," she leaned over him, her smile showing teeth, "it does not matter. However the two of you managed that last little attack, it will not work again. You will be drugged too heavily for that, and he is under my control even more now."

Blair tensed against the straps. "Don't bet on it," he said evenly.

"Oh, but I do," she said smugly as she turned to leave.

Blair watched her go, hatred rolling through him.

She turned just short of the door, her smile growing at his expression. "By the way, you know that I kill my chosen one when I am done. Wouldn't you like to know what I'll do with you?"

"Kill me," said Blair briefly.

She laughed. "Oh, no, Blair. The one I kill, the other I own until I take the next one." She waved a hand at Neil. "Of course, by then there's not much left of them."

"You bitch!" Blair whispered, horror roiling his stomach as he looked at Neil, seeing the empty eyes and blank expression for what they were.

She laughed again, the door closing behind her, and Neil settled into his seat again and held out another spoonful of oatmeal.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Damn it, Jim, will you listen!"

"Sir, I don't see how this applies to my job. Blair Sandburg is gone and–"

Simon hit him. Jim's head snapped back and he staggered, then caught his balance.

"Now will you listen!" Simon said, advancing a step. "He's not gone, and you know it!"

"Sir, with all due respect–"

Simon hit him again, and Jim swung back. But the blow was clumsy and Banks easily avoided it, landing another on his officer's chin.

Jim shook his head dazedly. "What–? What's going on, Simon?"

Taggert stirred against the back wall of the warehouse where they'd lured Jim. "Maybe you'd better tell him, Simon."

"Maybe I'd better," muttered Banks as he surveyed his detective, hands on hips. "Damn it, Jim, Blair didn't leave, and on some level you know it. And this Natalie woman – we did some searching," he nodded to Joel, his gaze never leaving the Sentinel, "and found that not only is she _not_ Natalie Corrigan, but she's not anyone we can locate. Natalie Corrigan died fifty years ago, Jim."

Jim shook his head. "What…?"

"Yeah," said Joel, stepping forward, frowning at Jim. "Jim, she's not real; can't you let her go?"

Jim shook his head dazedly, then his gaze sharpened and he stepped toward Simon, who watched him warily. "Hit me," he said tensely.

"What?"

"Damn it, Simon, hit me!"

It was the first time Banks had heard his friend sound like himself in weeks, and he hesitated, then braced himself and swung.

Jim's head snapped back and he staggered into the wall. "Again."

Simon shook his head, then repeated the blow.

Jim slid down the wall, his eyes closed, then opened them before Simon could comment. "No," he said, holding up a hand as Banks reached for him, "don't touch me. She'll know. I don't have much time, Simon, but I do know that she's got Blair somewhere. He's alive. Or he was night before last – I think it was that night…" He frowned, searching for some sense of time lost.

"Jim, what the hell's going on?"

"I don't know!" Jim said softly. "Only that she's got me and she's got Blair, somewhere. She's going to kill me and I don't know what she'll do to him, but–"

" _How_ has she got you?" Joel cut in, stepping closer.

Jim's eyes glazed briefly, but he blinked hard and hung on. "Haze, can't get out of it without help… 'cept when I'm asleep, talk to Blair then, but this time he was gone." His eyes fell shut. "I'm losing it again. Thanks." He slumped, and Simon grabbed Joel and hauled him off around a corner, hushing him with a curt gesture when the bomb expert opened his mouth.

Edging back, they peered around the wall as Jim sat up, glancing alertly around, then stood, feeling his jaw gingerly. He patted himself down, looking for his radio and gun, then grimaced as he discovered them both on the floor where Taggert had placed them after removing them.

Jim picked them up, replacing them on his belt, then stood very still for a long moment, and Simon realized with a jolt that he was focusing his hearing.

 _Oh, God_ , the captain thought, _our breathing, our heartbeats. Damn!_

But they were spared. Jim abruptly winced, hands going to his head as he cringed, his expression tight with pain. "Damn it," he whispered, then drew himself up and slowly moved out the door.

Simon waited until he heard the car rumble to life and pull away before sagging against the wall. "Close," he breathed. "Too damn close."

Joel shot him a curious glance, then eyed him thoughtfully. "We were, huh?"

Simon drew a breath and straightened. "Damn straight. If he hadn't told me to hit him…" He rounded the corner and headed toward the door, his mind already working on what Jim had said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim blinked, almost dropping the spoon. He tightened his grip, lowering it back into the spaghetti sauce and carefully stirring in a regular rhythm before looking up.

It was early evening, shadows stretching long outside the kitchen window. A small girl played hopscotch on the sidewalk outside, and a man passed at a quick walk, his smile widening as he turned toward another apartment.

Jim sighed silently. It all looked so normal, and he felt a sudden surge of loneliness. God, he wished that all he had to worry about was making supper and the case he was currently working on with Blair! He felt he had never truly appreciated the simple but deep camaraderie they'd shared before this, and he swore that if they ever fought their way through this situation, he'd never take it for granted again.

But it wasn't normal, and the sooner he dealt with that, the better. He glanced back down at the spaghetti, and lifting the spoon, moved to stir the pasta in the pot next to it. Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he couldn't see Natalie, and wondered what had woken him from the haze.

He thought about it, then reached up and opened the cupboard, removing two plates and turning to place them on the table, glancing around as he did. She wasn't in sight.

"Jim!"

Jim turned as the front door opened, feeling the smile curve his lips as she entered. Over the surge of anger and hatred that went through him was a wave of affection and trust, and Jim discovered suddenly that he was actually just a rider in his own body as he stepped forward to meet her embrace with a fervent hug and kiss.

 _What the hell?_ Jim watched himself give her a last squeeze and head back to the spaghetti, saying over his shoulder, "Almost done, Nat. Fifteen minutes."

"All right," she said cheerily, her steps light on the stairs to the loft. "I'll be down soon."

Jim lifted the spoon and tasted the sauce, the tang suddenly real on his tongue. He stopped and looked toward the loft, frowning. What the hell was going on? He grimaced at the echo of Simon's question. As long as she wasn't in sight, his body was his own, but let her enter and he lost it. But he was still conscious, still aware. That was a start.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blair watched Neil squirt liquid into the air, preparing to inject whatever drug Natalie had ordered into the IV, and shivered. God only knew what was in that syringe, and he wasn't eager to find out.

"Hey, Neil, man," he said quietly, gaining a slight reprieve as the man turned empty eyes toward him. "Come on, don't do this. You know what she's doing, better than anyone. Don't let her win again. Help me."

Neil hesitated, and Blair wondered if he saw a flicker of something in those eyes. "You can do it, I know you can. Don't–" His throat clogged abruptly and he coughed to clear it. "Don't do to me what was done to you, huh?"

Neil's eyes cleared, and Blair saw the man he had been for a moment, looking down at the anthropologist. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I can't fight her anymore."

The look faded, and Blair bucked hard against his restraints as he saw the blank expression. "No! No, man, please!"

Neil injected the syringe into the IV, and Blair twisted furiously against the straps, trying frantically to scrape off the bandage that held the IV needle in the back of his wrist. But already blackness was creeping across his horizon, and panting, he fell back onto the mattress, his clenched fists relaxing.

"No…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Good God, Taggert!" Simon's voice was frustrated and loud, and he slammed the book he held onto his desk. It was the next morning, Jim off on a task in town, and he and Joel were having one of their meetings in the captain's shielded office. "That's bullshit and you know it!"

"Hey, cap'n," Joel said evenly, "that's what you asked for. I looked over the books. I know it sounds crazy, but you gotta admit that description fits her."

Simon lowered his head into his hands, wishing he could make the problem go away as easily. "Damnit," he whispered. "I'm a police captain, Joel, not a– a– Goddamn it, a liberal fanatic!"

Taggert's lips moved in what might have been a smile if the situation hadn't been so serious. "Come on, Simon, didn't you expect something like this? Those books aren't exactly UFO sightings, but there's weirdness to spare in them. You read your bunch?"

Simon took a deep breath and lifted his head, wearily looking up at his friend. How had he ever gotten involved with this sort of strangeness, anyway? "Yeah," he admitted, crossing his arms on the desk and leaning forward. "'Til two this morning."

He ran his hands through his hair, then looked back at Taggert. Hell, he didn't even believe this stuff, and here he was acting like it was real.

But Jim was real. And Blair.

And Natalie Corrigan.

"And?"

Simon sighed. "I agree. It's her."

"So what do we do?"

"Well," said Simon slowly, searching for a plan as he spoke, "I guess we'll have to watch Jim to catch her in the act."

"Of killing him, you mean."

Simon blinked, then nodded. "Yeah. And try to find Blair, wherever he is."

Taggert gave him a look that expressed his opinion of the likelihood of that, and Simon sighed. "Try," he emphasized.

"Yeah," Joel said sourly. "What about her?"

"You mean, when we find her attacking him?" Simon hesitated, then continued, forcing the words. "We stop her, that's what."

Taggert studied him evenly, then said, "You mean we kill her, right?"

Simon's gaze fell, and he blinked at the seal set on one of the unopened letters sitting on his desk. Kill? He was a police officer, sworn to uphold the peace. _And defend the helpless_ , murmured his conscience. _What is Jim – and Blair, too, for that matter – right now but helpless?_

"I don't know," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

"I do," Taggert said. "We kill her. That's the only way to save Jim and Blair, Simon," he added at the surprised look. "And how about her next victim, and the next, and on? We can't put her on trial for attempted murder, not for this. The woman's not human, but her victims are. Killing her is the only way to finish it."

Simon was silent for a long moment, then nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim watched Natalie covertly, trying not to let his hatred – and his fear for Blair – drive him to actions he wasn't sure he had the control to complete. Yet. Soon, though…

It was the next evening, and though the Sentinel had lost his battle against the haze when they'd retired upstairs the night before, he had woken with the dawn aware of the situation and of himself. And he had stubbornly held onto that consciousness during the day, losing ground sometimes, when she touched him, for one, but winning steadily. Now he was in control most of the time, even when she was with him, and during dinner he hadn't lost himself to her touch, either.

 _Soon, Blair_ , he promised silently, watching her across the table with the smile she liked to see. _Soon._

"Jim, how about a walk? It's such a beautiful evening that it seems a shame to spend it inside."

Warning bells rang in Jim's mind, even as his smile widened and he rose to pull back her chair. "Sure, Nat," he said obediently, working to keep the tone the docile, even one that she trusted.

She smiled up at him as he swung her coat around her shoulders, and he wondered how she could not know of his awareness, of his consciousness, of his hatred and fear. Had arrogance lessened her sensitivity to his feelings, leading her to underestimate him? Or was the ability to fight her something unusual at this stage of the game, so it simply never occurred to her to expect it?

Whatever the reason, Jim knew he mustn't alert her now. Wherever they were going, her intentions were not benign, and any surprise he could bring to the confrontation he was sure lay ahead the better off he (and Blair) would be.

And so he followed her meekly out of the house and down the steps, heading toward the nearby park.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Simon crouched low behind the large tree, watching as Taggert moved smoothly from behind a trash can to another tree closer to the pair they were trailing. _I don't like this_, Simon thought as Natalie tugged Jim deeper into the almost-deserted park. _She's breaking her pattern. Why? Easier to kill him out in the middle of an empty park than in his own apartment?_ He shook his head, trying to deny the feeling that this was all a dream. A small, demure woman like Natalie Corrigan, killing Jim Ellison, a seasoned veteran and officer?

He watched them vanish over a hill before moving forward, dodging from bush to tree to bush again, until he could lie flat and stare over the hill for their quarry.

But then, he mused as he watched them settle on a park bench, facing the other way, she wasn't Natalie Corrigan. Natalie Corrigan had died fifty years ago under extremely strange circumstances, and whoever – and whatever – this woman was, she was most certainly not her. Hell, she didn't even resemble her. And if the stories in Blair's books were true, "Natalie" was stronger than Jim could be and they knew she had him under some kind of control as well.

And Blair… _Explain him, huh?_ he snapped at his subconscious as he and Taggert quickly moved down the hill in unison, halting behind some ornamental shrubs that grew only feet from the seeming lovers.

They had barely settled themselves before the action began.

"Kiss me, Jim," Natalie commanded, a note to her voice that made Simon shudder.

There was a moment of silence, and then Jim said coolly, "I don't think so."

From their close vantage point, both officers could see her eyes widen, then narrow. "You are–? How can you be aware? Awake?"

Jim lithely slid off the bench to face her, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Guess your charm wore off, lady."

She hissed, and Simon blinked, wondering if she was going to change into a snake. By now, he decided, nothing would surprise him.

"No," she said softly, smiling, "I forgot, for a time, what you are. Sentinels, and their partners, are hard to take, but not impossible." She stood, and Jim backed away.

"Hard to keep, too," he said evenly.

"Yes," she said, softer still, "but again, not impossible. Kneel to me!" The command was so sudden, and so harsh, that Simon jumped, and saw Joel start as well.

Jim staggered, but kept his feet, and the surge of vicious anger that slammed into Simon dropped him to his knees. He was dimly aware of Joel beside him, cramped over just like himself. The fierce pain knifing through him shattered any feelings that this episode might be a dream, that it might be anything other than terribly real.

 _And this is only the backlash_ , Simon thought dimly, setting his teeth against the stabbing pain and forcing himself to peer through the shrub at the ongoing battle on the other side. _Jim's getting the brunt of it_.

Ellison was still on his feet, though, and Simon felt a surge of naked wonder at his detective. He would've been on the ground by now, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. How the hell was Jim standing it?

"How's he doing that?" Joel whispered in amazement.

Simon shook his head, then blinked. "He's turned down the pain dial."

"Huh?"

"Something Sandburg taught him," Simon said absently, his focus on the conflict raging in front of him. "Turns it down."

"Oh," Joel said thoughtfully.

"Not on your life, lady," said Jim through his teeth. "Not to you, not ever."

She smiled, and Simon shivered.

"You are wrong," she said demurely, pacing toward him seductively. Jim backed away. "I have had a Sentinel before, by the way. And his partner."

Simon saw Jim swallow, and Natalie's smile widened. "Of course, it's true that the two of you have been harder. But then," she shrugged, moving closer to him, "your partner was an anthropologist. It gave him ways to work with you that most partners do not have. And your being a detective and a veteran…" She tipped her head at him. "…made you more difficult as well, for a while."

Her deliberate use of the past tense made Simon clench his teeth, and he saw Joel's fingers tighten into fists.

"He's not dead," Jim said evenly, not moving as she neared him, "so don't count him out of this yet, lady."

She smiled, a smile all teeth and no joy, and said softly, "Oh, but Jim, I keep the partner until the next one. You are the one who will die." And her fingers slid around his wrist, grasping him with all the speed of a striking snake.

And Jim reacted as if she were one, staggering and going down to one knee, his face whitening in the moonlight.

Simon felt no backlash this time, so he guessed that Jim received it all, whatever it was. _Even a Sentinel_ , he thought desperately, _can't win every time_.

"Come on," Joel breathed as he stood up, drawing his gun and starting forward.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _Funny_ , thought Jim dimly as he tried to stand against the tide of power dragging him away, _I thought I was getting acclimated to the cold_.

But this was so much more than cold that he had no name for it. Sheer, raw force, sucking his heat, his life, his soul from him, and he felt the world turning inside out until he stood on its underside, clinging to a life blackened by suet.

He thought of Blair, holding to the image of his friend despite the black darkness that tried to drain it right through his mental fingers.

_Focus on the physical, Jim… Stay in your… body…_

Jim didn't know if it was his subconscious that produced that Blair-like response, or whether it was actually his partner reaching out to him. But whatever it was, the advice was better than anything else he could think of, and he groped desperately for his body. The darkness roared and wailed around him, but he clung fast, finally focusing in on the small fragments left to him and building back the picture of his physical reality, one piece at a time.

Grass. He could smell the grass. He focused on that, clinging to the scent tightly, but trying not to zone out on it. It was a marker, he knew, nothing more. What else?

A cramp. His right calf. He hugged the pain close, reveling in it.

Wetness. Water soaked his back, bringing with it goosebumps and chills. He shivered.

He drew a breath, felt it lift his ribs, fill his lungs. Exhaled. Inhaled.

Heartbeat. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. It was there.

Footsteps, careful, deliberate, moving toward him.

Darkness, pinpricks of light far above. Stars.

He turned his head, blinked. The world was real again. He was real again, and the black force was gone. He lay on his back, Natalie kneeling beside him.

She stared down at him, eyes wide. "That's impossible," she breathed, then set her mouth. "There are more ways than one to kill you, Jim Ellison."

The Sentinel didn't waste words; he jerked away from her, rolling with all the speed he could call upon.

It wasn't enough. Her hands were on his shoulders before he could finish the move, yanking him back with a strength he couldn't resist. He bucked against her grip, but her fingers tightened, and she straddled him, forcing him down, hands on his shoulders.

Jim shook his head, aware of how ludicrous this scenario would look to an observer. He was a large man, and this woman was barely half his size and less than half his weight… And she was winning.

He tried to twist free, tried to move his arms, but her grip was firm, and he couldn't shake her free. He bent his legs and tried to roll, but she wouldn't budge. It wasn't that she weighed that much, but he just couldn't move her. Fear flickered in him, for the first time.

She felt it, and smiled, then, quicker than he could register the movement, she was off him. He barely had time to realize his freedom before she was seated behind him, her arm around his throat, his head torqued back. One twist, and she'd break his neck.

He froze, despair winging through him. He'd never really thought they could lose, despite the powers against them. Between them, he and Blair had won through so much. But this wasn't one of those times.

A single shot cracked, and Jim cringed as the bullet tore past him. Natalie's grip slackened, and he jerked free, throwing himself out of her radius with a frantic speed that brought him straight into Simon's helping hands.

Jim stumbled to his feet, eyes on the smoking gun that Joel still held, then he turned, looking at Natalie. One look told him that she wasn't going to win this battle. A small round hole stood between her eyes, which were slowly dulling. Jim stepped closer, careful to stay out of her reach.

She slowly focused on him and drew a slow breath. The words were soft, but Jim heard every one of them.

"You… have won… this round… Jim. But Blair… will not." Her lips lifted as cold screamed its way down the link, a tidal wave of arctic darkness, and Jim's fists balled at Blair's strangled cry.

Natalie's head lolled and she slumped to the ground.

Jim bent his head against the tears pricking his eyes, then fiercely swept an arm across them, denying them. Blair wasn't dead. He wouldn't let Blair be dead.

"Come on, Jim," said Simon softly, and Jim accepted his hand, surprised to find that Natalie's attack had left him on one knee again.

He struggled to his feet, swaying for a moment before finding his balance, then headed back toward the loft at a clumsy run. "Blair," he snapped at the two officers as he passed them. "Got to find Blair, _now!_ "

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"He's there," Jim said tightly, eyes on the hospital, looming large and dark against the sky as they swung into the entrance.

Simon glanced at him, then away. At least the phone message they'd found at Jim's loft had been correct in that much. Blair _was_ at Cascade General.

The captain parked without a word, then barely caught up with Jim as he erupted out of the car and trotted unevenly toward the emergency room. Joel joined them just as they hit the doors, catching Jim's arm as he stumbled.

Jim pushed open the door and swung inside, his expression one that Simon knew well. Right now the Sentinel was focused solely on Blair, and chances were he'd go right through anyone in his way. Simon just hoped he could head off any innocent bystanders before they got a dose of that focus. He saw the older woman manning the nurse's station, and sighed as she moved to intercept them.

"May I help you?" she asked crisply, trying to stay in front of Jim as he strode swiftly toward the inner emergency room.

"Police business," snapped Simon, flipping his badge open to her as Jim passed her.

"You can't go back there–"

By then they were in the inner waiting room, and the two nurses at the station there were already standing.

Jim didn't even hesitate, heading straight for the doors marked "Emergency Staff Only." Simon only managed to halt him a few steps from it.

"Jim! Jim, listen to me, are you sure–?"

"He's here, Simon." Jim's gaze didn't waver from the doors. "I can hear him." He jerked free and headed toward the doors, skirting the nurses nimbly as they tried to head him off. The people in the waiting room stared.

"Police business!" snapped Joel at the nurses as they turned on the following duo, just beating Simon to it. The older man was panting slightly, but his demeanor was as businesslike as if this were a regular case.

"You have a patient here named Blair Sandburg," Simon added brusquely, watching Jim push through the doors without stopping. "We need to see him, _now_."

"We have no patient by that name," said the older nurse from out front, bristling.

"Do you have a John Doe, recently admitted within the last few hours?"

Simon shot a grateful look at Joel, then looked back to the nurses.

"Yes," said a younger one uncertainly, then withered at the older nurse's glare.

"Fine," said Joel, and started toward the doors, followed closely by Simon. They stepped through them in time to see Jim halfway down the row of beds, turning into one that was closed off by the curtains.

Joel paused as they headed down the aisle, watching the curtains swing closed, then looked at Simon. "How'd he know where Blair was?"

"Heard his heartbeat," Simon said briefly before brushing past his officer and heading down the row. He heard Joel pause, then follow silently.

Simon pushed through the curtains, then stopped.

Blair lay on a small bed, his eyes closed, white as the sheets under him. A quick, erratic series of beeps echoed regularly through the room, and Simon's gaze went to the monitor and the irregular heartbeat it registered. He swallowed, looking back at the anthropologist.

Blair was shaking violently, and Simon blinked as he watched Jim throw off all but two of the pile of blankets that lay atop the observer and settle behind him, pulling him back so Blair lay on the Sentinel's chest. The naked caring of the move forced Simon to look away, and he saw Joel studying the palm-treed island pictured over the bed with a greater concentration than it warranted.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Simon jumped at the blunt words, turning as an older man pushed past him, a scandalized expression on his face. "This man's very survival right now is in danger, and I won't have his condition jeopardized!" The doctor headed toward Jim with the obvious intention of pulling him away.

Simon blinked, almost tempted to let him try, but his duty to protect the public nudged him forward and he caught the man before he touched Jim. "Police business," he snapped. "Leave him alone."

The doctor turned unbelieving eyes on him. "Oh, yeah? And which one of them is the police?"

"Both," said Simon briefly, though he couldn't blame the man for wondering. Jim wore jeans and a t-shirt, both wet and smudged with grass stains and mud. He leaned back against the wall, his arms careful around Blair. His eyes were closed, his expression intent. Blair wore the same flannel shirt and jeans that Simon had last seen him in, and his hair was even wilder than usual. Neither of them looked at all official.

"Look," Joel said as the man drew an angry breath, "you haven't been able to help him, have you?"

"And he can?"

"Yes!" Simon barked, the tension of the last few days breaking his control. "Now let him work! It's the only chance Blair has."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, shutting out the rest of the world. Simon's voice, Joel's words and wondering glances, the doctors and nurses and their chatter, all were meaningless now. Now there was only Blair.

He was trudging up a very steep hill, paced by his own heartbeat. Faint music echoed around him, but the harmony was broken and hard to hear. Sometimes he winced at its clashing notes, and other times he focused harder on the occasional strand of melody. Blair's heartbeat was gone.

On some level, he knew that this was his mind's representation of the struggle he and Blair were engaged in. Natalie's last attack had come close to killing Sandburg, and had strained whatever bond lay between himself and his partner, twisting it almost out of recognition in some places. Now they had to rebuild it, and every step Jim forced up the hill forged another brick into the path between the two of them. He just wished he wasn't so tired.

Somewhere, perhaps on the other side of the hill, Blair was fighting the same battle, but probably with fewer resources than Jim. There was a balance between them; each man had his own rebuilding to do that the other could not help with. But if Blair was too badly injured to complete his part, he could die before Jim even reached him, no matter their physical proximity. That thought created a vacuum inside the Sentinel that made him lift his feet faster, gritting his teeth against the pressure bearing down on him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

It was dark. That was Blair's first wavery thought when he came back to consciousness in the small space he had created inside the drugged stupor.

And cold. He lay face down on what felt like bare ground, dirt in his nose and mouth, so tired it hurt to think. He remembered building the space, remembered fighting to answer Jim, and then… It was like a giant hand of wind had slammed into him, throwing him into unconsciousness with the same carelessness that he might've tossed a bug down the drain.

 _Never do that again_ , he decided fuzzily.

He blinked around him, then gave up sight as a bad job. There was nothing to be seen. The darkness was total and complete, so thick it almost had a physical presence. He spat out the dirt between his teeth, then swallowed, grimacing at the taste. Levering himself up on his hands and knees, he shakily sat up, then stretched carefully, flinching at the twinges and aches running through his body. He took a slow, deep breath, wincing as pain stabbed through his ribs in one quick thrust. For a moment the darkness was speckled with little rainbows, and he panted shallowly, holding off the greater darkness of unconsciousness with a grim determination.

He fought the urge to simply lie back down and give up. To do that was to die, and he knew it. Frankly, he was surprised that he'd woken up at all, even in the mental space he'd created. If he'd had time to expect anything when Natalie's attack hit him, it would have been the Pearly Gates or something like that, though the afterlives of several of the native peoples he had worked with across his lifetime sounded more interesting than the Christian tradition of heaven.

His life. That was what this was about, though. He wasn't ready to die yet; he still had too much to do, too many experiences to enjoy, too many adventures yet to have. And Jim. What would happen to Jim if he died? If, that is, his partner had made it out of Natalie's net of death. What would he do if Jim had died?

Blair swallowed hard, then took a short breath. But the only way to discover the truth was to work his way back to true consciousness and deal with the answer he found there.

So how to do that when he couldn't see which way to go? He knew that he couldn't simply wait for the drug to wear off and wake up naturally. He didn't have that kind of time – if he didn't struggle he wouldn't wake up at all. It was as simple as that, and he took a deep breath, forgetting his ribs, then clutched at the ground as the world turned upside down, pain shooting through him.

Tired. He was so tired. He swayed, then caught himself. _No, damn it_. If he couldn't see, then one way was as good as another, and he had to begin right now. He slowly set himself, then moved to stand.

Knives of white-hot agony blasted through his right ankle, and he fell back, landing hard. His ribs jabbed at him, and he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing a little and staying conscious. When the torment finally ebbed, he opened his eyes, blinking away the tears of pain.

"Oh, man," he breathed softly, then shivered.

Cold. And tired. Damn, but it would be so easy just to lie down and go to sleep. After all, if Jim had died under Natalie's attack, Blair would rather die than wake up to her owning him as she owned Neil. His death would defeat her purpose in that, at least. And he and Jim would be together. And the chances of Jim surviving were slim. No one else had ever won against Natalie, and even Jim had his limits.

So did Blair, though, and going out without a fight was one of them.

He took a careful breath and evaluated himself again. The pain had diminished now, and he thought he could move if he was careful. But his hands hurt, and he frowned, running light fingers over each. Scrapes, small cuts, and something that he suspected was blood covered his palms, and he reached out, wondering what he'd fallen on. His fingers found a row of sharp rocks and he grimaced. On a hunch, he reached to his other side and found a like row, then smiled, hope leaping in him for the first time.

The rocks outlined a path, and he could follow it. He'd wanted a guide, well, now he had one. _Ask and ye shall receive_ , he thought wryly, as faint light began to outline the trail. It was a principle that worked well in the physics of the mind and of life, and he had seen it happen before.

He shivered again, then frowned. This was his space, so why couldn't he dress himself more warmly? He closed his eyes, knowing that he didn't need to, but old habits died hard, and visualized a lightweight fur coat, then ran his fingers down its softness as he zipped it up, adding a fur cap to top it off.

He smiled to himself, then lost it as chills shook through him. Cold, so cold… _Damn_. He grimaced, puzzled, then with a sinking heart unzipped his coat and pressed his hands against his chest, somehow sure already what he would find. His t-shirt was torn and wet, and he rubbed a finger in the liquid and raised it to his mouth, his lips twisting at the metallic taste. Blood.

 _Double damn_. He traced the deep slash running from his throat to his hip, fire burning along the touch, and sighed. No wonder he was cold. The blood was his life, draining away.

He didn't waste time pondering the thought, but carefully levered himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the crutch he found lying at his side. He had to go, now.

The path headed uphill, twisting and turning like a torqued pretzel, but somehow he always stayed within its lines, stumbling upward.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim rounded the corner, staggering a little, then went to his knees as the wind hit. He shook his head, then forced himself to his feet again, leaning against the gale. He had been through one hurricane in his life, and he figured that if he survived this adventure, this would qualify as his second. The wind was growing in strength, though, and soon he wouldn't be able to stand against it, but when he lifted his head to squint upward, he could see the hilltop was much closer. A few more rounds of the hill and he would be there.

The music was loud now, hammering at him with clashing chords and echoing bass drums. He tried to cover his ears, then gave it up. It didn't seem to make a difference in the decibel level, and he needed his arms free to fend him off the mountainside when he stumbled into it. God, he was tired.

He put his head down again and slogged on, dimly wondering when the trail had turned to circle the hill instead of going straight up. He couldn't remember, but it had been a while.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"What's goin' on?" Joel asked softly, his gaze on Jim and Blair. The anthropologist was still white and shivering, and Ellison's intent expression was just as focused as earlier.

Simon shrugged. They had dragged chairs into the small room after the doctor had left and seated themselves, but that had been some time ago. Simon checked his watch and blinked. Only fifteen minutes, actually. Funny. It seemed much longer than that. "Who knows?" he answered belatedly. "With them, you can never tell."

"Because Jim's a Sentinel?"

Simon shot him a glance, then sighed. "Yeah."

"And he can hear Blair's heartbeat."

"Yeah," Simon said tiredly.

There was silence, then Joel added quietly, "And ours?"

Simon grimaced. "Yeah."

"And Blair, he's Jim's… partner?"

Simon closed his eyes. How was he ever going to explain Joel to Jim and Blair? "His partner, yeah, his backup, trainer, guide, you name it. I've heard him called all those things. Point is, without him I don't think Jim would be here."

"Oh, I know that," Joel agreed softly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Oh, God," Blair gasped as he fell again, his ribs beating red-hot against his skin until he thought they would burn their way through. His ankle throbbed like a bass drum, his head felt like a percussion instrument used in a rock band, and he knew he was leaving a blood trail.

The world had lightened just enough that he could see beyond the path, which made it easier, but he was getting weaker with every step. At least he could see the hill he was climbing now, though, and he was almost at the top. A few more circles and he'd be there.

 _And then what?_ he thought fuzzily as he struggled back to his feet.

He didn't know. He knew, now, that the trail he followed served a dual purpose, but besides leading him upward to consciousness he didn't have a clue what its other function might be. Nor did he care. At this point, all his focus was on reaching that hilltop. Anything that happened past that simply didn't matter right now.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim caught Blair as he fell over the top of the hill, the bright sunlight haloing the anthropologist's wild hair. Sandburg's eyes closed even as the Sentinel carried him farther into the grassy glade, and Jim swallowed hard as his friend's body went limp. Laying his partner down next to the small, tinkling stream that wound its way through the trees, he carefully stripped Blair of his jacket and shirt, catching his breath at the slash that laid the anthropologist's chest open to the bone from throat to hip.

"My God, Blair," he whispered, then set about cleaning him up with shaking hands.

Twenty minutes later Jim sat back in despair, staring at the gash that despite all his efforts simply would not stop bleeding. Between the broken ribs and the sprained ankle, Blair was suffering enough as it was, but those he could recover from. But if he didn't stop bleeding, he'd die, and Jim just could not find a way to halt it.

Besides that, he had a strong feeling that nothing was quite as it seemed here. Why Blair should be physically wounded here when he wasn't in the real world was important, but Jim couldn't figure out why.

 _Just too tired to think straight_ , he thought.

"Damn it, Chief," he muttered, tangling Blair's curls through his fingers, "this is your area, not mine. Wake up and talk to me."

Blair stirred, then opened his eyes, blinking up at Jim. A slow smile grew in his eyes, and his lips curved. "Are we dead?"

The simple question made Jim swallow, and he had to force his own smile. "No, Chief, we're alive. But I'll be straight with you; unless I can find a way to stop this bleeding I don't know for how long."

Blair blinked sleepily at him. "Blood for blood," he said hazily.

Jim frowned at him, something in the words tugging at him. "Huh? Sandburg, what're you talking about? What happened to you?"

Blair shrugged, then grimaced. "Don't know. Woke up like this."

He seemed on the verge of fading off again, and Jim said hastily, "Wait! What do you mean, 'blood for blood?'"

"Power," Blair mumbled, his eyes closing. "Blood heals… Blood brothers…" And he was gone, peace smoothing his face into sleep again.

"Damn! Chief, sometimes, I swear…" Jim sighed in frustration, gritting his teeth. "'Blood for blood,'" he muttered to himself, "'blood heals, blood brothers'… What 'n hell are you talking about, Sandburg?"

He settled back, trying to think against the pace of time and trying not to watch the slow ooze of blood from his partner's injury. "'Blood for blood,'" he mumbled. "What does blood have to do with anything anyway? What does it have to do with _her?_ " He couldn't bring himself to say her name, as if she would turn back from death to look at him if he did.

The words echoed in his mind, and he heard Blair's words from that long ago day on the hilltop. "She took my blood."

"Blood?" Jim whispered, watching the small crimson tide trickle down Blair's chest. His eyes widened, and he tore into his pockets, groping frantically for his knife. Flipping it open, he drew the blade across his palm, then cupped his hand, waiting for his life's liquid to pool in the hollow of his hand. When he figured he had enough, he turned his hand over, placing it on the open wound.

The bleeding stopped.

As he watched, the slash started to heal, the skin folding together seamlessly from the ends to the middle. Jim's hand itched fiercely, but he held it firmly on Blair's skin, holding his breath until the long cut was gone, the healing complete. Then he lifted his hand slowly, staring at the smooth skin under it. Turning his fingers palm upward, he looked at his hand, swallowing at the clean skin, complete and unscarred.

He dropped his hand and looked back to the anthropologist, finding his partner awake and smiling at him.

"Thanks," said Blair simply.

Jim looked at him. "What the hell just happened?"

Blair took a deep breath, then smiled again, sitting up with no sign of pain. "Well," he said cautiously, wondering at his own clarity of mind, "the way I figure it, when Natalie attacked me, the damage she did could only be healed by sharing our blood, because she started this whole thing by using our blood against us."

Jim shook his head. "I don't follow you. It's just blood."

Blair studied him, then shrugged. "I think I can wake up now. That is, if the drugs have worn off. How about you?"

Jim's eyes narrowed. "What makes the blood important, Chief? And why did you say blood brothers?"

Blair stretched, then carefully stood, testing his ankle. "Wow. It's gone. That's something else, man! Maybe I could learn how–?"

"Chief!"

Blair stopped at the shout, glancing back at his partner. "What, Jim? Aren't you ready to wake up now? Get on with our lives? Eat supper? Come–"

"Sit. Down."

Blair sat, sighing.

"What's with the blood?"

Blair took a breath, then let it out. Many things were clear now, and the picture finally made sense. "Blood is life, Jim. She used our lives together, our bonds to each other, against us. By using our blood, she forced us to betray each other." He hesitated, and Jim looked at him evenly.

"Then why were you bleeding and I wasn't?"

Blair's eyes dropped. "Because Natalie's attack ripped our bond apart, and I was the focus because she wanted to hurt you."

Jim frowned, then swallowed as empty horror rippled through him. "You mean that she ripped it right out of you, didn't she."

It wasn't a question, but Blair gave a tiny nod, still not looking at Jim. "She couldn't do it completely, because it was mine and yours, not hers. But she could try."

"And tear you inside out when she did."

Blair shrugged, studying his bare foot intently.

"And it didn't even hurt me."

Blair looked up quickly. "Yes, it did." He saw Jim's skepticism and went on, "It was my blood, Jim, but it drained both of us. You felt the strain, even if you were too focused on me to notice it for what it was." He shook his head at Jim's frown. "And you felt the dissonance, the clash, the pain. You just didn't register it in the same way that I did." He shrugged, his gaze steady on his partner. "It was both of us or neither, Jim. If I'd died, you would've, too."

Jim was silent, thinking, then pulled out his knife again and used it to slice across his hand.

Blair studied him as the blood welled, then reached to take the knife, cutting his own hand with a swift move, wordlessly holding out his bloody palm.

Jim placed his own hand atop his partner's, grasping it firmly, and their eyes met. A moment of silence, and they loosened the grip, standing. They both looked down at their hands, and Jim swallowed at the long, thin scar lanced across both palms, mirror-reversed. There was no blood.

"Ready to go home?" Blair asked, smiling at him.

Jim nodded, and smiled back.

 

* ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Look," Joel said softly, nodding at the pair.

Simon shifted in his seat, then blinked. Blair lay comfortably on Jim's chest, no longer shivering, his breathing deep and relaxed. The electronic beeping had dropped to a regular rhythm.

Jim stirred, then opened his eyes, raising his head and wincing as the cramp in his neck registered. "Ouch," he said, sitting up straight while never letting Blair go. He looked down at his friend and smiled, then carefully laid him back on the mattress and slid off the bed. He smoothed Blair's hair back with an unselfconscious gesture that made Simon's throat tight, then smiled a little wider.

"Guess those drugs haven't worn off yet, huh, Chief?"

He turned to face his two friends, his expression dropping back to its usual reserved lines. "How long?"

He hesitated, and Simon supplied it. "About half an hour."

Jim blinked at him. "Wow. That's all, huh?" He didn't give Simon a chance to answer, instead turning to Joel. "I never thanked you for what you did. You saved my life, you know. Both of you did. And his, too," he added, jerking his thumb at Blair.

Simon shuffled uncomfortably and studied the island picture.

Joel shrugged. "Forget it. It's what friends do." He held out his hand and Jim shook it, then shot a wry glance at Simon.

"I guess our secret's out, huh?"

Simon nodded. "Hell, Jim, I needed someone I could trust, and–"

Jim shook his head. "Forget it, Simon. It doesn't matter. I'd trust Joel with my life, so why shouldn't I trust him with this thing?"

"Yeah, well–"

"I'm still not sure exactly what 'this' is," Joel said dryly. "Hope someone'll explain it all to me."

"That's his job," Jim said, glancing back at his partner and smiling again. "He's the expert."

"Okay," said Joel, looking over at Blair. "I'll hold you to that."

 

* ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"…So that's what Sentinels are," finished Blair, smiling at Jim's faint blush.

"And you," the Sentinel said gruffly. "Don't forget that."

Blair shrugged. It was the next evening, and the four of them were seated in the living room of the loft, Sandburg and Jim on one couch, Simon and Joel on the other. "I'm just an anthropologist who happens to know a lot about them," said Blair cheerfully. "You're the real McCoy."

"Sandburg."

Blair sighed. "Yeah, Jim?"

"Shut up."

Blair's lips quirked. "Sure, Jim." He turned to Simon, cocking his head. "Hey, what happened to me, anyway? I mean, I know where I was when I was drugged, or rather, where I wasn't, and I wasn't in the hospital. So how'd I get there?"

Simon and Joel shifted uneasily, then Simon cleared his throat. "Uh, someone called 911 and told them where you were. When they found you, someone had taken out your IV and untied you."

"Wow," said Blair softly. "I guess Neil finally had enough. What happened to him anyway? Where is he? I think I owe him my life, too."

Joel took up the story when Simon showed no signs of answering the question. "I don't want to be the one to tell you this, Blair, but he's dead."

"Dead?" Blair asked blankly.

Jim draped his arm across the sofa behind him. "I'm afraid so, Chief," he answered soberly. "Seems he untied you and took out the IV, called 911, then went into the other room and… killed himself."

Blair stared down at his hands. "I guess he really didn't have any options left. At least he's free now."

Jim looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Blair lifted his gaze, meeting his friend's. "I mean that Neil was to Natalie's last victim what–" He faltered, looking away, a faint rise of color in his face.

"What you are to me?" Jim asked quietly.

Blair bit his lip and nodded.

Simon and Joel glanced at each other and the captain deliberately coughed. "Well, I think I'm going to call it a night. How about you, Taggert?"

Joel nodded. "Yep, and for the first time in days I think I might actually sleep all the way through it."

Blair looked up at them, utterly serious. "Thank you, Simon. And you, Joel. For my life, and Jim's. I won't forget it."

"Neither will I," Taggert said dryly. "And I just hope I can adjust to the notion that I'm sharing office space with a guy who can read my heartbeat to know when I'm hidin' my donuts from him."

Jim grinned as he stood, glaring at Blair when the anthropologist started to follow. Blair sighed but stayed on the couch. "I'll remember that, Taggert."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

The front door shut behind the two officers, and Jim turned back to his partner, his smile dying at the long, sober look that Blair was using to study the room. "Problems, Chief?"

Blair looked up at him, then slowly smiled. "No, Jim, just… reclaiming it, you know?"

Jim nodded, unsmiling. "Yeah, I do. But I couldn't do it until you got home."

Blair nodded. "Want some coffee before bed?"

"Sure," Jim agreed, catching Blair's hand to help him to his feet as the anthropologist started to get up.

"I feel fine," Blair said as he stood up, trying to sound grumpy.

"Doctor's orders," Jim said, lips quirking. "Take it easy."

"Yeah," Blair sighed, releasing Jim and turning to follow the Sentinel toward the kitchen. His eyes abruptly widened and he took a quick step forward, catching Jim's fingers and pulling him to a stop.

Jim opened his mouth, then closed it as Blair turned his hand upward, tracing the thin line of scar across the palm with a light finger, then turned his own hand palm up. The lamplight gleamed across the two scars, mirror images of each other.

Jim looked down at the matching palms, then lifted his gaze to meet Blair's, the confused wonder in his eyes meeting a similar awe in his partner's. Both of them slowly smiled, and Jim grasped Blair's shoulder, pulling him toward the kitchen.

The End

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